


At Least Remember That

by mangojuices



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accident, M/M, Mentions of Blood, but I swear it's a happy ending, i didn't expect for this, injuries, it took me less than an hour to write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangojuices/pseuds/mangojuices
Summary: Hongjoong volunteers himself to be the first test subject for Wooyoung's new machine to remember what happened six months ago when the accident took his memories.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Seongjoong - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	At Least Remember That

Hongjoong swallows a thick lump of saliva, mouth separating after with a dry pop.

He breathes in slowly and exhales just as slow, trying to sedate his quickly beating heart and lessen the sweat that clings onto his forehead that makes the sticky pad of the sensor loose. “Relax, it’ll be fine.” Hongjoong glances up at Wooyoung, his great friend of many years and an amazing engineer of sorts, having created so many gadgets and gizmos that he’s sold to many companies. Wooyoung is some sort of a genius, and that’s why Hongjoong trusted him with this.

Ever since the accident, he couldn’t remember much.

Hongjoong could remember the passcode to his apartment, but not the extra pair of house shoes beside his, slightly larger in size and a clean, mint green color. It’s obviously worn with the indent of feet in the soft material, but who’s is it? Hongjoong couldn’t remember. When he goes to the cafe nearby his apartment, he’d walk through the door and the bell that jingles each time would remind him of two orders _—_ _hot chocolate and an iced americano_ _—_ but Hongjoong, for the sake of his life, doesn’t remember who’s hot chocolate it is. It had been six months of missing memories, six months of remembering things that didn’t make sense because it was meant for _two_ , not _one_.

Six months till Wooyoung revealed his new instrument, a machine that could unlock memories of the past, delve into the minds of people; whether to uncover memories, reveal plots, or make sense of a murky concept. Hongjoong petitioned himself to be the first to be tested, and while Wooyoung almost hesitated, there’s those tired eyes of the elder, big brown orbs full of bottomless depth where the deeper the brown inks, the more questions were asked than answered.

So, Wooyoung relents.

There lies Hongjoong in his ( _or was it someone else's?_ ) blue bunny pajamas, wires hooked to any available patch of pinkish skin, reading signals and relaying it back to a monstrous computer that beeps every once in a while. There’s an I.V. drip beside him too, and Hongjoong is reminded of the hospital from several months ago when he had woken up to white ceilings and the faint sound of saline rippling. “We’re gonna knock you out, then we’ll begin.” Wooyoung mutters to Hongjoong, not even turning around to see the nod the older gives. Yeosang is Wooyoung’s best friend and business partner. Skilled in the medical field, he had opened his own pharmaceutical business and skyrocketed within a few years, and while the thrill of making money fueled his passion, he also sought something different every once in a while. That’s how he ended up next to Hongjoong, syringe in his hand as he pulls the anesthetic through the needle. In a practiced manner, Yeosang gives an automatic smile to Hongjoong, “I’m going to put the anesthesia through the I.V. and it should take effect pretty quickly. Don't fight the urge to sleep, okay? You're not gonna win against it.” Hongjoong nods minutely, head turning back up to stare at the ceiling. White. Like the hospital room and his apartment. “Hyung, can you count backwards from one hundred for me?” Yeosang asks, melodic deep voice already beginning to lull Hongjoong into a slumber. “100, 99, 98.” White suddenly turns black, the noise settles into static, and soon enough, his fingers go numb. 

_“Hongjoong? Hey, Hongjoong? Wake up, babe, it’s already afternoon.”_

The ceiling is white. Like the hospital room and his apartment. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when it does, he finds that there is someone beside him, bigger and warmer, with a gentle smile and a gentler gaze. “What?” The man smiles _—_ it’s blinding like the sun behind his hair, making it seem like he bears a halo, an absolute angel with a heavenly face. “It’s one o’clock, sleepyhead. Come on.” He pushes himself off the mattress and makes his way towards the door. Hongjoong follows with his eyes; the man wears the mint green slippers. 

The man, _the beautiful man_ , cooks a late breakfast for Hongjoong; two eggs and three slices of bacon with cut strawberries in a small bowl beside the plate. Sure, Hongjoong is grateful, but he doesn’t know who this person is and why he was in his apartment calling him nicknames and wearing those damn slippers. Hongjoong stares at him as he eats, cautiously eyeing how his skilled hands dry the dishes and put them away in the cabinets as if he knew where they went because he lived here. It’s Hongjoong who breaks the comfortable silence with an awkward question, “Who are you?” The man stops, almost freezes, turning around to face Hongjoong. His face is unreadable, or is it going blurry? “I said, who are you?” Hongjoong demands, slamming the fork on the table, pieces of egg splattering against the (admittingly fake) marble top. The man winces at the sight but doesn’t speak, only looking back at Hongjoong with hurt in those damn eyes. “I said _—"_

_“Hongjoong? Hey, Hongjoong? Wake up, babe, it’s already afternoon.”_

Hongjoong opens his eyes faster than he could suck a breath in, sweat dripping off of his forehead. The ceiling is white, like the hospital room and his apartment. “It’s one o’clock, sleepyhead, come on.” It’s the same voice from his dream. Hongjoong blinks and turns to look at the owner of the voice. There he sits, the same image of a bright smile, the halo above his head more prominent now. “Come on, Joong, do you remember what day today is?” Hongjoong swallows, blinking rapidly to make sense of what’s happening. The man sighs, rolling those beautiful eyes, “It’s our anniversary? Don’t you remember?” Silence; well, it’s more of Hongjoong not knowing how to answer such a personal question when he doesn’t even know who this man is. “Joong, you can’t be serious? We’ve been dating for four years and you still can’t remember? It’s our special day!” There’s a loud beeping noise coming from outside the bedroom that only the man reacts to (Hongjoong is too busy staring). “Get up, will you? We have a coffee date in an hour.” The man pushes himself off the bed and towards the door, Hongjoong’s eyes following. He notices the blue bunny pajamas and the mint green slippers. 

The man had cooked a late breakfast, two eggs with slices of bacon, a cup of strawberries beside the plate. Hongjoong feels as if he’s lived through this before, _deja vu_ , but he can’t place what made him think that. He’s never seen this man before in his life, but he seems to know Hongjoong personally. Hongjoong watches as the man hums to himself, drying the dishes quickly and putting them away. Once the last dish is placed in its spot, the man turns around, a giddy smile on his perfect face. “I’ll go get ready!” The man almost dances to the bedroom they were just in a few.. Minutes? Hours? Hongjoong couldn’t remember, but they were in there, he’s sure of that. He finishes his meal and places it in the sink, and something in him knew that the man would yell at him. Sure enough, the man comes out dressed in simple black jeans and a white shirt, big smile turning into a frown almost immediately. “Can’t you wash dishes?" His hands settle on his hips, head tilting in what Hongjoong could decipher as annoyance. "You can get ready for two hours but not clean a single plate?” Hongjoong’s eyebrows cinch together, confused as to when two hours had even passed. He looks down at himself and, sure enough, the pajamas he was wearing no longer covered his body, but ripped jeans with a black shirt with messy writing over it. “Whatever, I’ll clean it when we get home. Let’s go!” 

It seemed like Hongjoong blinked and they’re teleported at the cafe near the apartment, that bell echoing in Hongjoong ears _—_ _hot chocolate and an iced americano, please._ Hongjoong blinks and suddenly they’re sitting across each other at a table, the man’s chin resting in his hands, elbows propped on the wood as he looks outside the window. Hongjoong admires the features of the man, how his eyelashes flutter against his red splotchy cheeks, the slope of his nose long and smooth leading to pillowy pink lips stretched into a wandering smile. How the man’s hair, jet black and curly, sits unstyled and tucked behind his ears.

“For Seonghwa!”

The barista calls and the man reacts fast. Hongjoong gasps. 

_“Hongjoong, please just take your vitamins. You’ll get sick if you don’t.”_

_“See? What did I tell you? I just knew that the dishwasher was broken, look how much suds are on the floor!”_

_“I think I’d like to visit Paris only if I was with you.”_

_“You bought me these slippers? Oh my God, Joong, I’m gonna cry!”_

_“I love you, Hongjoong... At least remember that.”_

_“Of course it isn’t your fault that the laundry goes unwashed for the three days I’m gone.”_

_“What makes you think I didn’t like you? I’ve liked you since we were thirteen.”_

_“If I die, would you remember me until you die? Shut up, I know it’s morbid, but I just want to know.”_

_“When we get married? What, are you proposing?”_

_“Hongjoong? Hey, Hongjoong? Wake up, babe, it’s already afternoon.”_

The ceiling is white, like hospital room 306 and his apartment that he shares with his boyfriend, Park Seonghwa. “Come on, sleepyhead, it’s one o’clock.” Hongjoong grabs Seonghwa’s wrist, eyes wide in panic. “That’s… No, that’s wrong.” Seonghwa’s head tilts in confusion, “What…” “You’re supposed to say, “It’s one o’clock, sleepyhead, come on” but you said it wrong.” Hongjoong blinks hard, and there it is again, that feeling of disorientation as the scene shifts, flashing white before it fades away into the colors of what’s to be seen. “For Seonghwa!” The man in front of him jumps out of his seat, heading over to the barista to grab the to-go drinks. Hongjoong stands, meeting with Seonghwa half way, breathing labored as panic rose to his throat. It’s deja vu, but he doesn’t know, he doesn’t _remember_ what happens next. “Here’s your iced americano! Venmo me two dollars please!” Seonghwa jokes followed with a laugh, taking the lead towards the exit. Hongjoong follows, legs rushing as fast as he could but it seemed as if he couldn’t catch up with Seonghwa. He finally reaches the taller at a crosswalk, out of breath and heartbeat erratic, “I don’t know what's happening, but _—_ ” “Let’s cross the street!” Seonghwa grabs Hongjoong’s wrist, pulling him behind him as they walk. 

Time seems to slow down, everything is in slow motion, and Hongjoong is the only one that can move fast enough. He could capture each detail, each second that passes, how the heat of the hot chocolate burns across his chest, the paper cup making a soft thud on the road. Hongjoong could feel the beginning second of Seonghwa pulling his wrist, hard enough for it to pop, the two tumbling onto the sidewalk. The seconds rush back to normal time, the sounds of rubber burning asphalt screeching as the car turns around the corner. Hongjoong looks up from the sidewalk, swallowing the panic in his throat. “Hwa?” “Hongjoong, are you alright?” The voice comes from behind him, so Hongjoong turns around. There stands Seonghwa, his boyfriend, perfectly fine (save for the road burn on his cheekbone). “Oh God, Joong, are you okay? Did I break your wrist?” Seonghwa begins to make his way towards Hongjoong, arms stretched out to hug and console the shorter. Hongjoong blinks and _there it is again_ , white, blinding his eyes before he’s back on the ground, several feet away from the sidewalk.

_God, his body hurts._

There’s a wave of red that washes over his weary face, blunt eyes fixated at a blurry red shirt just two feet beside him. _“No… He wore white today.”_ Hongjoong _remembers_ , his broken arm extending towards the bloodied shirt. His fingertips graze the back of the shirt, cotton squishing as he prods at cold skin. “Seonghwa…” He croaks. Tears begin to dilute blood, clipped nails scratching against the fabric. 

_“Someone call the ambulance!”_

_“There’s been a hit and run near the Sunrise Cafe! I think one of them is dead_ _—_ _”_

Hongjoong desperately tried to keep his eyes open as sleepiness begins to spell his lids. He rolls over on his side to be closer to Seonghwa, just barely enough before his body screams for him to stop, barely enough so he could grip onto the shirt that stickily clings onto Seonghwa’s back. He tugs as much as he could, enough for Seonghwa to fall onto his hand like dead weight. “Seonghwa…” Hongjoong croaks again, choking on tears of blood. The man’s head rolls towards Hongjoong, pale, tired, and stained crimson. “--oong…” Hongjoong’s eyes burn, overwhelmed with the urge to blink. 

_(“If I die, would you remember me until you die?” Hongjoong tears his attention from the movie and onto Seonghwa who stuffs his cheeks with popcorn. “What the fuck?” “Shut up, I know it’s morbid, but I just want to know.” There’s a beat of silence. “Of course I would.” Seonghwa smiles.)_

_("Do you know what day it is today?" Seonghwa's voice is muffled against the heat of Hongjoong's warm neck, both of their eyes too heavy to open. "Mm.. Wednesday..?" Seonghwa sighs, the waft of morning breath hitting Hongjoong, making his nose scrunch. In this position, Seonghwa is engulfed in Hongjoong's arms, legs intertwined and achy from a full night's rest, Seonghwa pinches his boyfriend's stomach. Hongjoong flinches, "Ow! Sorry!" "God, you have the worst memory, Joong." There's a rest of morning silence, the sun washing them in perfect warmth. "Is it Thursday?" Seonghwa laughs full bellied, shoving his nose deeper into Hongjoong's neck. "It's our anniversary, babe." There's a snap of fingers, "Oh!" More silence, Hongjoong tracing circles onto Seonghwa's back. "Happy anniversary." Seonghwa smiles and gives a small peck onto Hongjoong's skin, "Happy anniversary.")_

Seonghwa tries to gather air, inhaling with a wheeze. _“I love you, Hongjoong… At least remember that.”_ Hongjoong could feel how cold Seonghwa gets when his breathing stops, the hand underneath Seonghwa’s back gripping onto the fabric as tightly as a broken hand could. “Seonghwa..” Hongjoong, despite his body’s refusal, reaches with his other hand, straining to flick the hair that covers Seonghwa’s open eyes. The urge comes back, and Hongjoong relents. He blinks. 

  
  
  


_“Hongjoong? Hey, Hongjoong? Come on, wake up, dude!”_

There’s a heavy press onto his chest and suddenly Hongjoong is awake again, fingers with sensation. The ceiling is white. “Oh _God_ , Hongjoong.” Wooyoung crushes him into a hug. “You were flatlining.” Yeosang cries, voice vibrating in fear. Hongjoong didn’t have the strength to push Wooyoung away, but his voice broke the fear filled air, “Seonghwa…” Wooyoung grabs onto Hongjoong’s shoulder and pushes him in front of his line of sight, “You remember?” Hongjoong’s eyes lines with sudden tears, his chin trembling as they fall, “Seonghwa…” Wooyoung presses his lips thinly and brings the elder in a hug, letting him sob into his shoulder as he rubs his back. “I’m so sorry, hyung..” 

_—_

Funerals are never easy.

Everyone cries and there’s a lot of shaky breaths and even more tissues that are wasted. Hongjoong sighs, pushing back his blond hair as the casket is lowered into the ground. He stands far away from the crowd, _it would be too awkward if he was right beside the grieving family_ .

“Asshole.” Hongjoong nods to the word.

“He was.”

There’s silence between the two, however it’s comfortable.

“Wanna get some coffee?” Hongjoong grins. “You can’t drink coffee even if you wanted to.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, a crooked smile on his scarred face, “Hot chocolate, coffee. They essentially look the same!” Hongjoong laughs quietly, turning around to go back into the car.

Today had been the burial of the driver that hit him and nearly killed Seonghwa, and while it may have been uncommon, the two had visited silently to watch the end of a chapter. After Hongjoong had remembered the events of the accident, Wooyoung had broken the news that Seonghwa had _not_ indeed died, but had been in a coma. With the geniuses of Jung Wooyoung and the medical knowledge of Kang Yeosang, they had brought Seonghwa back to consciousness and retrieved the memories of Hongjoong’s so they could testify in court. The man had been found guilty, sentenced to death, and it took a few more months of recuperation from the two victims and for the legal system to carry through. It was a long journey, and they had finally reached the end. Hongjoong’s hand doesn’t work entirely the same anymore and he loses feeling in his fingers from time to time, along with that his memory is still dodgy at best. Seonghwa ended up with more scars than cheeky retortions, along with a slight walking problem that was partially fixed with a cane. Sure, they had been injured, brought close to death and dragged back to living, but they're _both_ alive. Hongjoong starts the car and peels off from the cemetery. “Sunrise Cafe?” Hongjoong asks. Seonghwa laughs, “Where else?” Hongjoong brightly smiles. 

_—_

“Oh right, I forgot to take my vitamins today.”

“Hongjoong! You can’t forget to take your vitamins, you’ll get sick if you don’t!”

“You nag even more after being brought back from the dead.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Yes, you do!” 

“Nuh uh!” 

“Yuh uh!”

  
  



End file.
